No one replies. There doesn’t seem to be anything to say. During all this, Makri has been hovering in the background, looking smug. It’s a nasty surprise for her when Lisutaris rounds on her too.
“I don’t see why you’re looking so pleased with yourself. You didn’t do such a great job when we visited the Oracle, did you? If you had, then maybe Ibella Hailstorm wouldn’t be dead. And next time Legate Apiroi and that damned Bishop-General are after my blood, could you possibly exert yourself and keep them away from me? Unless you’d rather just drink with Thraxas of course. Maybe he could find you some dwa. Why don’t you all just join him in his wagon for a pleasant little party while I try and lead this army at the same time as the Head of The Orcish Sorcerers Guild is making a complete fool of me?”
Makri is rendered speechless. There’s a very uncomfortable pause before Lisutaris orders us out of her command tent. When we troop outside, the guards, who’ve probably heard every word, sneer at us as we pass. Droo clambers to her feet and follows us as we depart.
“I don’t think that was justified,” says Makri, in a rather subdued tone. No one else speaks. There’s not much to say. We go our separate ways. I can’t believe our War Leader accused me of being as useless as a one-legged gladiator. It’s hardly the sort of language you expect from the aristocratic Head of the Sorcerers Guild. I’m thoughtful as I walk back to my wagon, and depressingly sober. Simnian beer, it’s really not that good. Wears off far too quickly.
Anumaris Thunderbolt is sitting with the reins in her hands, trundling forward slowly as the army gets underway again. She greets me quite formally. I doubt she admires Captain Thraxas any more than Lisutaris does. I decide to lie down for a while. Perhaps I’ll feel inspired after I’ve slept. Before I nod off, a thought strikes me. I try and ignore it. The thought won’t go away. I curse, and sit up. I’m remembering the time I was down in Mattesh with Gurd. That useless Simnian Calbeshi was there too, stealing a living by pretending to be a mercenary. Must have been twenty years ago. More, perhaps. There was another Turanian with us. Poldax. A large man with an axe. I hadn’t thought about him for years till Calbeshi reminded me of him. I don’t know what happened to him after that campaign. Something’s nagging at me. What is it? I shake my head and look around for some beer. There isn’t any. Damn this war.
Another name floats into my head. Poldius. Lisutaris said that Tirini’s father was called Poldius. A minor palace official, a respectable man. I’ve lived all my life in Turai and I’ve never heard that family name. I drag myself upright and poke my head through the flap at the front of the wagon to talk to Anumaris. Her long Sorcerers Cloak is covered in dust, as is the scarf tied round her face
“Have you ever heard of a Turanian called Poldius?”
She lowers the scarf to speak. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure? He’d be one of your class.”
Anumaris is sure she’s never heard of him.
“Do you have any idea where Dasinius might be? The palace scribe who was looking after Turanian refugees when they arrived in Samsara. Did he travel with the army?”
“If he did, he’d be with the other non-combatant Turanian officials in the administrative division. Their wagons are about a hundred metres behind us, a little to the right.”
I drop off our wagon, make my way to the clear pathway that’s maintained between traffic at all times, and wait for the army to slowly pass. When I spot a group of wagons with a Turanian flag fluttering above them and some elderly faces among the passengers, I cross over to them and ask for Dasinius. I’m directed to one of the Turanian vehicles where I find the palace scribe on the pillion, with the reins in his hands. Like Anumaris, he has a scarf tied round the lower part of his face, protecting him from the dust kicked up by the advancing army. He looks at me sourly.
“What do you want?”
“A brief talk about the population of Turai.”
I climb up beside him, to his obvious displeasure. None of the Officials I know from my time working at the Palace seem to remember me fondly. Class prejudice, I’d say.
“You used to work at the Palace registry, didn’t you? Recording births and deaths, and marriages and so on?”
“I was head of the department.” He sounds proud of it. I never thought it was that important a position.
“Did you ever come across anyone called Poldius?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure. There was no Poldius in Turai.”
“Maybe you just never met him?”
Dasinius lowers his scarf and casts a baleful look in my direction. “It’s bad enough being chased out of Turai at my age, without having to answer questions from you, Thraxas, one-time investigator at the Palace. What did they kick you out for? Drunkenness? Laziness? Or were you cheating on your expenses?”
“Just answer the question, Dasinius. I’m personal security officer for Lisutaris. You don’t want to annoy her.”
The elderly official laughs. “Annoy Lisutaris? I don’t give a damn. My life’s going to end fighting Orcs who’ve captured my city and outsmarted us at every turn. Lisutaris isn’t going to make any difference.”
Apparently Turanian morale is not as high as might be.
“About Poldius...?”
“There’s no Poldius. I’d recognise the family name.”
“No Poldius in all of Turai? Ever?”
“Damn you Thraxas, how many times do I have to tell you?”
I mull this over for a minute or two. Dasinius coughs, and pulls the scarf back over his mouth.
“What about Poldax?”
“What about him?”
“He was a little older than me. Fought as a mercenary down in Mattesh.”
“I know, I remember him. I filed his marriage certificate. And his death certificate, about fifteen years ago.”
“What did he do?”
“He was a municipal worker. Employed by the Ministry of Civil Works to inspect the sewers.”
“Did he have any children?”
Dasinius thinks for a few moments. “One daughter. Tirina.”
He does have an impressive knowledge of the city-state’s inhabitants. I wonder if he can remember every single one.
“Tirina? What happened to her?”
Dasinius shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t recall ever filing a certificate for her - not for marriage, or death, or anything else. Maybe she left the city.”
I thank Dasinius. After leaving him I walk quickly up the line, passing the slow-moving wagons till I catch up with my own. Anumaris is still driving, Droo is still sleeping. I’m due for some sleep myself. I use my cloak as a pillow and lie down. I have a few more things to think about now. I need my rest.
Chapter Sixteen
The next day, rumours sweep through the army. Deeziz the Unseen’s name is suddenly on everyone’s lips. Everyone seems to know that the most powerful Orcish sorcerer is here, right in the middle of our army, undetected. The mood among the soldiers changes from optimism to apprehension. The storm which delayed us, previously seen as an unfortunate natural phenomenon, is now taken as proof of Deeziz’s power. It’s a severe blow to morale. Even though our rendezvous with the Niojans has been delayed, the army was in good spirits. Not any more. The shocking rumours have a devastating effect. Everywhere you look there are soldiers eying their neighbours suspiciously, wondering if they might be an Orcish spy or an Orcish sorcerer. Confidence in Lisutaris as War Leader has plummeted.